


A Heart So True

by mothmangrub



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pokemon AU, cole is alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 18:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17565911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothmangrub/pseuds/mothmangrub
Summary: Pokemon AU. Hank is Officer Jenny and Connor is Nurse Joy.





	A Heart So True

**Author's Note:**

> Why did I need this AU? I don't know, man. But I sure did.

Hank was getting too old for this job.

Not as Too Old as this trainer though. The guy looked like he was in his thirties, but he was just starting his Pokemon journey now? Pretty late, buddy. That was the only explanation for why his only Pokemon was a low level Rattata.

Maybe Hank wouldn’t be so judgmental of the potential trials of this stranger’s life except the guy was also a Grade A Asshole. So really it was an impasse.

“Your Pokemon is damaging public property,” Hank said blandly, flipping open his citation notebook to start scribbling shit down. His uniform was an obnoxious blue and a little tight in the belly recently. He’d been putting on weight again. He would have to put in an order for another size up. His belt, complete with Pokeballs and hand radio and yes even a gun, sagged a little into its secret under-belly lair but if he shifted his hips his badge glinted satisfyingly back into daylight.

“My Pokemon is stuck up a _tree_ ,” the Asshole hissed. He kept posturing, trying to get all up in Hank’s face, but always from far back enough that you could tell he’d weasel immediately out of a real fight. He had six o’clock shadow, bags under his eyes, and a scar across his nose. Really not the usual delightful picture of a child embarking on a coming of age quest.

“He seems pretty happy up there to me,” said Hank.

They were at the base of a tree. One of those skinny, manicured sidewalk trees, relegated to a neat square patch of soil next to the street, with an empty soda can in its roots and what looked like the Sports section of a newspaper as well. They were in front of a hair salon in the middle of town. This wasn’t exactly the untamed wilds.

Up in the highest scrawny branches a Rattata was dutifully peeling off bark with its big ol’ teeth. The wood bits rained down on the two men’s heads like a sort of botanical dandruff.

“That tree’s public property,” Hank said. “So your Pokemon is damaging public property.” He tore off the citation and handed it over to Asshole, making dead eye contact, because yes he was doing this _entirely_ to be an asshole right back. You get what you ask for, punk. Again, Hank was getting too old for this shit.

Asshole swiped the citation from Hank’s hands with an ugly glare but also carefully pocketed it.

“Just get him down, will ya?” He crossed his arms petulantly but there might have actually been a thread of anxiety in his eyes unless Hank imagined it. Probably imagined it, to be honest.

Hank sighed, oh so beleaguered, but then whistled through the gap in his front teeth. “Here, Sumo!”

His Growlithe partner, who had been guarding his parked moped down the street, immediately perked up his orange ears and came bounding down the sidewalk. He was a Fire-type Pokemon to match his color, but you wouldn’t think he had such dangerous capabilities when you saw the tongue-lolling cheer on his face. He sat his butt down right in front of Hank.

“Think you can grab that Rattata for me?” Hank asked, as if addressing a person, his thumbs hooked in his belt. He jerked his head up toward the tree. “Don’t eat the little guy. He just needs a lift.”

The Growlithe gave a boof and was shimmying up the tree in no time. He was a big, chubby boy but his sharp claws helped him gain purchase as he scrambled on up to the Rattata’s branch.

“Don’t you dare hurt him,” the Asshole said quaveringly.

“You need to calm down,” Hank told him.

“Listen, motherfucker. My Rattata is in the top percentage of Rattata. If you fuck this up sending your Fire-type after him I’ll have your badge, you hear me? That Pokemon is worth a fuckin’ fortune.”

“I’m sure he is, pal.”

Sumo snuffed at the Rattata’s face and then gingerly grabbed the smaller Pokemon by the scruff and carried it back down the tree. Sumo then laid the Rattata at its trainer’s feet on the sidewalk, and the Asshole just about dived for it, scooping it up in his palms. The Rattata was small enough that his hands dwarfed it. It looked unimpressed but Asshole was downright beside himself.

“I’ve got my eye on you shitty cops,” Asshole said, pointing at Hank accusingly. “I don’t trust guys like you.”

“You do realize _you_ called _me_ to get your Pokemon out of a tree?” Hank flipped open a little pouch on his belt and took out a bone-shaped treat for Sumo, who boofed cheerfully in thanks.

“Whatever,” said Asshole. “This town sucks.”

And he stormed off, clutching his Rattata to his chest like a priceless porcelain vase. If he knew to just keep his Rattata in a Pokeball this adventure probably wouldn’t have happened in the first place. Newbie trainer indeed.

Hank bent to give Sumo a pat on the head along with his treat.

“Good work as always, old boy.”

He didn’t expect to look up and see Asshole storming right back toward him, looking extremely chagrined.

“Uh,” said Asshole, with an awkward clearing of his throat. This was the face of a man returning with his tail between his legs. His thumb fiddled with his Rattata’s whiskers, clearly annoying the Pokemon but the Rattata didn’t react beyond a squint. “Where’s this town’s Pokemon Center again?”

“Cripes, you’re useless,” Hank said.

 

***

 

Hank gave the Asshole a ride on his moped. There was a passenger car that Asshole could barely fit in, his knees up to his chin, but beggars can’t be choosers in Hank’s opinion. Of course Hank wore his helmet, and Sumo was strapped to Hank’s back wearing a specialty Pokemon helmet, and Asshole got the spare helmet for guests. But Hank didn’t have anything that could fit a Rattata.

“Put it in its Pokeball,” he insisted. Safety first. He was a cop.

“He doesn’t like his Pokeball,” Asshole grumbled, rather unintimidating in his lame helmet. At least Hank’s had a visor that fit the whole cop look, but Asshole might as well have been on a tricycle. “You don’t keep your Pokemon in a ball either,” he added.

“That’s because Sumo’s a certified police Growlithe, dipshit.”

Also Hank maybe liked the company.

They stared each other down, then finally compromised with Asshole stuffing the Rattata securely in the pocket of his hoodie.

Then off they went.

Up Main Street they emerged from cute, clustered shops onto a hilly street overlooking the bay. Snowfell City was more of a village than a city. You could see just about the whole thing from here, including the modest Pokemon Gym. It was tiny and hard to get to down by the docks, but still League certified. It was spring currently, but as soon as early fall hit this town would be covered in snow, with big hunks of ice bobbing out in that dark water. Now the weather was fairly mild, and Hank even had his short-sleeved uniform on, the hairs on his forearms prickling with the air whipping by them as the moped puttered up the street. It was warm by Snowfell City standards, but still chilly for someone out of town. Hence Asshole’s hoodie and the way he was trying to shrink his neck into his shoulders over there in the sidecar.

Snowfell City’s Pokemon Center was up on the edge of town, in a nook overlooking the homes and shops below. Stark cliffs tapered down from the domed building’s backyard into rocks and water.

Hank parked next to a bike rack--not many cars came up here apart from a scheduled trolley--and removed his helmet, shaking out his helmet hair. It didn’t help.

“Geez, you look like a Caterpie crawled up your ass,” he told Asshole.

“I’m not a fan of heights. Or your driving.” He was looking a little green, but extricated himself bow-leggedly from the sidecar.

Sumo watched Asshole as Hank unbuckled his Pokemon helmet, clearly wondering if this was a new friend. No way, Sumo. Not on your life.

The Pokemon Center was equal parts Pokemon clinic and motel. They entered a clean lobby with a lounge of low sofas and attached cafes and souvenir shops, not unlike an airport. Pokemon Centers were always a good place for young trainers to get in and have an inexpensive meal. Once they got older of course it would be a joke to reminisce about how long they subsisted on ramen and macaroni and cheese out on the road.

The main point of interest, however, was the large front desk that spanned most of the far wall, taking in incoming patients. On either side were a pair of doors that led to the actual hospital--one for regular post battle patch-ups and another for emergency care. Thankfully, the ER didn’t see much action in a sleepy town like Snowfell.

As they approached, the head nurse looked up from his computer terminal and smiled at them. Hank smiled back automatically because, well, it was Connor.

He’d known Connor a long time.

“Can I help you, officer?” Connor asked, ironically. He pushed sideways in his rolling chair and caught himself closer to the center of the desk to greet them. He was dressed in an all-white uniform, with light blue hems and a pocket at his chest for pens. It was basically scrubs, but dolled up to look more approachable to young trainers. Connor dealt a lot with children, after all, who were often out in the world on their own for the first time. It helped for him to look nice, and for him to act nice. He had both down pat.

“Just helping a tourist find their way,” Hank said.

“What the…” Asshole was staring agog at Connor. “Aren’t you the same nurse from my hometown?”

“Ah. You must be talking about one of my cousins,” said Connor, who got this a lot. “There are eight of us, and yes, we do all look extremely similar. And we do all work at Pokemon Centers. Family is funny like that.”

“That’s creepy as all get-out. The one I’m used to has blue eyes though.”

“That must be Richard,” Connor said in a We Don’t Talk About Richard sort of way.

Asshole sneered at Hank. “What, are you gonna tell me you’ve got police cousins all over the place too?”

“No,” said Hank. “That would be stupid.”

“Very improbable,” Connor agreed.

“Whatever. I want my Rattata checked out.” The Pokemon in question poked its head sleepily out of Asshole’s hoodie pocket, ears flapping.

“Are you serious?” said Hank. “Your Rattata is fine.”

“I know he’s not hurt, I just wanna know how his fucking nutrition holds up, damn,” Asshole snapped.

“Language, please,” said Connor, with a winningly warning smile. “There are a lot of children here.”

Asshole stuffed his hands in with his Rattata and just glared at the floor.

“I would be happy to do a blood test on your Rattata if you’re really so keen on it,” Connor continued. He took a clipboard of admittance forms out of a drawer and slid it over for Asshole to fill out. Another smile. It was definitely a peeved smile but you would never know it if you didn’t know Connor the way Hank did. “Please fill out your contact information and any pertinent medical history for your Pokemon.”

“Thanks.” Asshole took the clipboard and pen and damn near fled to one of the sofas across the way.

Hank watched. Sumo watched too at his feet. Then Hank turned back to Connor with a raised eyebrow.

Connor ducked his head to hide how his smile got a little meaner.

“He acts like you must have given him a very hard time, Hank,” Connor said, absently reorganizing the office supplies in front of him. His hair was neatly styled back except for a few strands dangling over his forehead, like always. He had three freckles on his face, in entirely uncoordinated places, and Hank swore to god they moved around sometimes. He couldn’t be _that_ bad at keeping track of a guy’s freckles, could he? (Debatable.)

“It’s been a slow damn day,” said Hank.

Connor gave him a shrewd look. “Don’t tell me I have to chastise your language too, officer.”

“Sorry. It’s been a slow damn _week_.”

Connor’s attempt at a frown was interrupted by Sumo leaping up onto the desk, scattering paperclips and immediately making Connor’s face break into a laugh.

“Sumo, get down!” Hank griped, but Sumo was already on his back on top of Connor’s remaining office supplies, receiving vigorous belly rubs.

“It’s hard work watching you check parking meters all day,” Connor said. “Isn’t that right, boy?”

“Don’t encourage him.”

A smattering of gasps and cheers brought Hank’s attention to a television across the room, surrounded by comfortable chairs piled with kids and their Pokemon. They spilled out to lay on the floor as well, as kids do. On the screen, they were watching an intense battle--the most recent in the spring National Pokemon League tournament. The best of the best Pokemon battlers were showing off their stuff. A Gengar was fighting a Nidorino currently, in a grand arena. The festivities went on for weeks.

“Have you been keeping up with the scores?” Connor asked gently.

Hank shifted, adjusting his belt with both hands. “Yeah… More or less.”

There was a pause during which Connor no doubt weighed his conversation options. Sumo panted in attention-receiving ecstasy, still under Connor’s hands.

“When did you last call Cole?” Connor asked. He was going for it, then.

“Last night,” Hank said immediately. “He didn’t pick up. Again.”

“It must be really busy up there at the League. Especially for a contender as young as him.”

“Yeah, all that bullshit is crazy for a kid to be in the middle of.”

“I’m sure he’s doing fine. He seemed very calm during his battle last night.”

“At least from what was televised, anyway.”

Unexpectedly, Connor reached over Sumo and placed his hand on Hank’s forearm. His palm was cold, and goosebumps went up Hank’s back.

“But you’re proud of him, right?” Connor said.

“I’d be proud of him if he was shoveling Mamoswine manure somewhere. Of course I’m proud of him.”

_I just miss him, is all._

Before Hank had to change the subject, Asshole arrived again to do it for him. Connor quickly took back his hand from Hank’s arm, as if it was suddenly a hot frying pan. Sumo lifted his head from where it was lolled against a stapler.

Asshole handed over the clipboard, with his Rattata sitting primly on top of it, and Connor accepted both.

“Thank you, Gavin,” Connor said, reading the name half under the Rattata’s butt. “I’ll take Rattata right back and check how he’s doing.”

He looked between Hank and “Gavin”, his smile unassuming but, in Hank’s opinion, mischievous.

“Play nice, you two,” Connor added.

Yeah, fuck that.

“Sumo and I have some important business to attend to,” Hank said. “I’ll see you later, Connor.” He gave Gavin a dry look. “As for you… You can take the trolley down. But you should probably stay the night. It’s supposed to rain pretty heavy later.”

Gavin flipped him off. Somewhere a child gasped and, wide-eyed, Gavin stuffed his hands into his pocket again. Too late. The damage was done and Connor was looking very unamused indeed.

Hank was all too pleased to leave at exactly that moment. He scooped Sumo up in his arms like a fat old baby and shot Connor a wink.

_Have fun with that, nurse._

 

***

 

Outside the storm clouds were already mustering out over the bay. They made the water on the horizon almost black. The flat bottoms of those clouds meant some lightning would be spicing things up tonight.

It was still a ways away, though, and Hank let Sumo run around and piss to his heart’s content outside the Pokemon Center for a bit. Hank, for his part, leaned against his moped and took out his cellphone. Still no return calls from Cole, not even a text.

He sent another text of his own:

_You did good, buttmunch. -Dad_

And added a flexing Machoke emoji.

Then he put his phone away and instead pulled out a pack of cigarettes with a cartoonish picture of a Koffing under the brand name. He was trying to quit, but… Fuck it, he really missed his damn kid.

Was he dawdling on going back into town, which inevitably would end with him going back to an empty little house with unwashed dishes and bad Wifi? Where he’d just lay awake staring at the water stain in his ceiling half the night, going through all the Pokemon battle stats he’d ever learned in his head and thinking up all the one million ways Cole might get his heart broken out there?

Yeah. He was probably dawdling.

Hank chose a cigarette and whistled through his teeth again. “Sumo!” He bent down and held the cigarette a safe distance from his bike, low to the dirt.

Sumo ran on by and shot out a ball of flame from his mouth that perfectly grazed the very tip of the cigarette, lighting it instantly. Hank felt the heat pass the tips of his fingers. He’d burned off the hair on his knuckles ages ago doing this shit.

“Thanks, buddy.”

He straightened and took a nice, long drag.

Here’s a funny story: Cole’s first Pokemon battle was also the day they met Connor.

Hank’s old man memory had probably scrapbooked it all together to be way more interesting than it was at the time, but it was a happy memory for him, and sometimes those needed protecting. Especially on melancholy evenings with a cigarette.

It went something like this:

  


Out by the bay there was a park, tiled in with elaborate brickwork and then surprising you with real grass and trees and flowerbeds squeezed so close to the waterfront. It was a little oasis amidst tourist shops and fisheries. Hank had always taken Cole to the playground here.

But Cole, at seven, had finally reached an age where the jungle gym and the swing sets weren’t interesting him so much any more. Instead, everything was about Pokemon. Hank had never gone on a Pokemon journey of his own--his family was too broke to fund such a thing, and Hank needed to focus on getting a job. His only real Pokemon companion had been Sumo, who he hadn’t met until the police academy. But he always wanted Cole to have those experiences he’d missed out on. So in addition to growing up with Sumo, Cole also had his own Pokemon from a very young age.

It was a Bulbasaur. A dutiful, squat Grass-type who followed Cole everywhere like she was determined to become his mother in his actual mother’s absence. Cole insisted her name was Cauliflower. He did not yet understand that cauliflower was not a type of flower and Hank hadn’t had the heart to correct him.

That day, Cole’s insistent wheedling finally convinced his dad to let him try a real Pokemon battle. A few steps from the playground, in a small field of grass, Cole knelt down by Cauliflower, earnestly whispering strategies into her ear, his skinny arm wrapped around the bulb on her back. Hank stood across from them with Sumo, both dad and Growlithe feeling uneasy.

“Ok!” Cole hopped to his feet and did a little shimmy of his shoulders to hype up. “We’re ready! You ready to lose?”

“Hah! We’ll see. Remember the rules, though. If I say Stop you stop, and if you say Stop I stop. Also Sumo isn’t going to use any Fire type attacks because that would be too hard on Cauliflower.”

“But I can use whatever I want, right?”

“ _Yes_ , but Cole. Pay attention, alright? Don’t push her too hard.”

_And don’t get your hopes up too high._

Why was that such a deadly fear for parents? When your kid gets his hopes up high enough, you just start getting nervous.

Cole grinned. One of his incisors kinda overlapped another tooth, which always gave him a crooked look when he was excited. Kid needed braces, but Hank couldn’t afford them yet.

“You ready?” Cole demanded.

“To lose, yeah yeah, I get the picture.” Hank unconsciously shifted into a more wide-legged stance, as if bracing for impact. “Since you’re the challenger, it’s polite to let your opponent go first.”

“That sounds more like you’re just cheating, Dad.”

“Either way, Sumo’s gonna throw you a Tackle.”

Sumo perked his ears and immediately surged forward at the instruction, aiming his considerable body weight straight at Cauliflower. _Come on, kiddo, think on your feet._

“Cauliflower, Tackle too!”

The Bulbasaur was smaller so it wasn’t the greatest strategy, but kids tended to go for all offense at first. Cauliflower’s resigned face meant she probably knew that her trainer was inexperienced, but she dutifully ran forward as well, letting him make his own mistakes.

The two Pokemon toppled into each other, and Cauliflower was thrown backwards. Sumo easily was on top of her in moments, playfully nipping at her stubby feet. She made a grumbly noise.

“Cauliflower, Growl!”

Hank laughed. “Sumo, Growl too!”

Both Pokemon just bayed at each other. It was fairly ineffective in intimidating either of them, since they knew each other so well outside the battlefield, but man it was pretty funny to look at and Hank could appreciate that.

Cole however was pouting. No kid wants to watch a Growling match.

“Vine Whip, Cauli!”

There we go, that was smart.

Two green vines extended from the bulb on Cauliflower’s back and snaked around Sumo.

“Get him off you!” Cole suggested, without missing a beat, and Cauliflower actually lifted Sumo off of her and off the ground, holding the big ol’ Growlithe suspended in the air. She waited for instruction.

Cole floundered a little.

“Well if you’re not gonna do anything, I guess we’ll have to counterattack--” Hank teased, but Cole interrupted him with a “No no, I got it!”

“Throw him!”

Cauliflower did. With an impressive amount of strength for just thin vines, she hurled Sumo across the field. The Growlithe landed in the grass with a dazed boof.

Hank smiled. That wasn’t half bad. He started to say so, but Cole wasn’t missing a beat.

“Do it again, Cauliflower!”

She did. Before Sumo could even stand properly, her vines darted all the way to where he lay across the field and grabbed him again, this time by the front legs, lifting him awkwardly, and tossed him.

It was pretty funny, actually. Sumo was a good sport about it.

Except Cole wasn’t letting him get up, and that was bad manners. He was getting giddy with success, and Sumo had barely hit the ground before he ordered Cauli to throw him a third time.

“Now, Cole…” Hank began, but Cauliflower was already throwing Sumo again.

This time he crash landed into a flower bed and suddenly made a noise that was not at all normal, a sharp pained yelp and then a whine.

Uh oh.

Hank hurried to him, smile falling. Cole and Cauliflower both froze.

Sumo was sprawled amongst the pansies and dirt, and when Hank knelt beside him, Sumo lifted one of his paws and whined some more. Cauli hadn’t attacked him that hard, but any kind of rough housing could lead to injuries if you just land on something wrong. Hank held the paw gingerly in a big hand, the panic of _oh shit I fucked up_ hammering away in his chest. He thumbed at it gently, trying to determine where exactly it hurt, but Sumo just whined and cried the whole time.

“He might have broken something,” Hank said, a little stunned by the freak accident nature of this. Of course this sort of improbable nonsense would happen in front of his damn kid.

“Shit,” Cole breathed, his eyes as big as saucers.

“Cole, watch your mouth!” Hank barked, harsher than he’d intended, and his son shrank remorsefully.

“Dad, I didn’t mean--”

“I know. Just. Give me a second.”

“Excuse me.” That last voice was entirely unfamiliar.

Hank looked over his shoulder to see that a young man had approached their little tiff. He stood not far from Cole, dressed in jeans and a nice gray trenchcoat and a fur-lined bomber hat that was actually a little ridiculous. His eyes were big and brown, like a Stantler caught in some headlights, but his expression was weirdly unreadable in contrast. He had bits of dark hair sticking out from under the hat to tickle his forehead and freckles of indiscernible mobility.

“Good, it’s you, Conrad,” Hank said. “Can you help me with this?”

“Actually I’m not Conrad,” the man said. “That’s my cousin… He transferred out of town, recently. I’m new here.”

“You kidding me? You’re his spitting image.”

“I’m aware, yes.”

“Dammit, I need somebody who knows their medicine.”

“Oh, I’m that too. I’m the new nurse taking over Conrad’s place in Snowfell.”

“Then get over here? Please?”

The man hurried to do just that.

He knelt at Hank’s side and maybe pushed his hands away a little fussily so that he could attend to Sumo himself. The new Conrad was wearing black gloves, but quickly removed them, depositing them on Hank’s knee as if they belonged there, and ran his bare fingers expertly through the fur of Sumo’s paw, squeezing and testing.

“You’re alright, friend,” not-Conrad murmured at a particularly shrill whine from Sumo. It seemed he’d found the source of the pain. “It’s alright. It’s not broken, just a very bad sprain. I know it hurts but it’s going to start feeling better all on its own very quickly.”

He addressed Sumo rather than Hank, but Hank noted the information too and his shoulders sagged with relief.

Out of his pocket, not-Conrad pulled a little spray bottle of Hyper Potion and spritzed Sumo’s paw pads to help with the pain. He jimmied a thumb through the fur tufts that stuck out between Sumo’s toes, just a playful placating gesture.

“What did you say your name was?” Hank asked, his tone one of awkward gratitude.

“I didn’t,” said the new nurse. “It’s Connor.”

“Thanks, Connor.”

Hank glanced away from Connor and Sumo to check on Cole again. The poor kid still looked like he was trying hard to disappear, his face stark white.

Hank slowly reached out an arm and flapped his hand in a _Come Here_ gesture. Cole rushed forward as if released from paralysis, throwing himself right into his dad’s chest, and Hank curled the same arm back in around him, hugging him close.

“It’s ok, kiddo. It’s fine. It’s just an accident, ok?”

Cole was trying so hard not to cry--from a young age, ever since his mom left and his dad turned into this mess working his ass off to raise a kid alone, Cole always tried so hard not to cry. But there were some blubbering noises he couldn’t quite keep in his throat this time, and Hank kissed the top of his head and just murmured “It’s ok, it’s ok” over and over.

Cauliflower slowly made her way over as well, crouching herself there in the grass a short distance from the action, but her eyes always watchfully glued to Cole.

Connor coaxed Sumo to a proper sitting position and gave the Growlithe some rough pets on the head. He seemed like a polite and maybe even overly careful person, but he still knew the rough way you need to pet a dog.

“I think he was more scared and surprised than in actual pain,” Connor said, to Hank and Cole this time. “It’s very unusual for a Pokemon to get seriously injured in battle, so it must have been a shock.” He seemed to address Cole in particular when he added, “It really was an unforeseeable accident. He just needs some sympathy.”

“An attention whore as always,” Hank said, but he rubbed a hand brusquely down Sumo’s back, entirely ready to indulge his partner. Cole did too, sniffing wetly and bunching both his hands in Sumo’s fur.

“Can I pay you back for that Hyper Potion?” Hank asked.

“No. That would go against my ethics as a nurse.” Connor smiled, kind of shyly. He fidgeted a little with his hands, before Hank offered over his gloves for him. Connor took them wordlessly and pulled them back on.

You could tell he was from out of town, bundled up as he was.

Afterward, Cole decompressed by playing with Cauliflower and Sumo, walking through the park with them flanking both of his sides, their pace humorously slow to accommodate Sumo’s sprain. Connor tried to escape but Hank urged him over to a park bench for a proper conversation. He could recognize the jumpy self-consciousness of a guy who hadn’t made any friends in town yet.

It didn’t take long for Hank to see why. Connor seemed to have trouble talking to people outside of professionalism, and would just sit there like a robot absolutely stricken in silence during conversation lulls, with those big Stantler eyes wide in abject social horror. Hank could practically see the gears turning in his head desperately trying to come up with worthy conversation topics.

Hank tried to have mercy on him and start up conversations himself, ask questions-- _where are you from? how long have you been in town? have you been to Strange Doughnuts yet?_ \--but even then Connor gave fairly brief answers. Finally Hank just let them sink into silence for a moment as they both watched Cole and the Pokemon trudging across the way.

Connor definitely wasn’t relaxing.

“I miss wearing shorts,” he said abruptly.

Hank gave him a careful side-eye through his hair. “... Yeah?”

He could see on Connor’s face the moment he realized his attempt at a conversation starter was nonsensical. His eyes darted down to his hands in his lap and his mouth fell open for an explanation belatedly. “I mean. It’s usually pretty cold around here, colder than where I grew up, so I don’t have much use for shorts anymore. I used to wear them a lot.”

“Huh. You don’t seem like a shorts kinda guy.”

“I like shorts,” Connor assured him. “They’re comfy and easy to wear.”

Fuck, this was the most awkward guy Hank had ever met.

“What about the hat?” he asked.

“Pardon?”

“It’s kind of a wild hat.”

Connor blinked at him for a moment and then carefully removed his bulky fur-lined ear-flapped hat of ridiculousness. Hank opened his mouth to stop him-- _you don’t have to take it off, geez_ \--but the words died in his throat.

He was struck dumb for a moment, because Connor’s hair was kind of a mess but also dangled over his ears in this strangely delicate way, and it suddenly occurred to Hank that Connor was actually very handsome. The freckles popped out on his pale jaw all the sudden, as if to spite Hank specifically. The big doe eyes looked better with the hair to match.

Connor, meanwhile, seemed entirely unaware that he was gorgeous and instead frowned slightly down into his cap, picking at the lining.

“It’s faux Vulpix fur. Traditionally, Vulpix fur was used for these types of hats because a Fire-type was expected to provide more warmth, but it’s very rare to use real fur these days, with the advancement of Pokemon protection laws. I certainly would never support it.”

He was rambling out facts again as if that counted as conversation, but Hank found himself oddly charmed.

“I hope you’re not like this at the Pokemon Center,” he teased, but his smile was unusually warm.

Connor sighed. “I’m sorry. I know how to talk to customers but friends aren’t my strong-suit.”

“You’re in luck,” Hank said. “I’m very easy to catch. Extremely low level friendship acquisition.”

Connor smiled crookedly. “Like a low level Pokemon, then?”

“Repel sprays even work on me,” Hank said. “In fact, I know a good number of people who would like to use that on me regularly.”

Connor actually laughed at that and oof. He had this unexpectedly hoarse laugh that was weirdly attractive.

Hank swallowed the lump in his throat, and their low-level friendship began just like that.

  


It had been almost three years since then. Hank wouldn’t have been able to track it except by thinking about how old Cole was. He was ten now, and one of the youngest League finalists in this year’s tournament.

Connor, meanwhile, was… Connor. Still. Just that.

Hank finished his cigarette and pinched it between his fingers a few times before walking over to deposit it in the trash bin outside the Pokemon Center doors.

Safety first. A forest fire up here would suck.

He realized that he’d been thinking of inviting Connor to the tournament festival Snowfell was having this weekend on Main Street, but every time he wound up in Connor’s vicinity he just forgot about it. Or avoided it. Maybe a part of him was ashamed, an old dad looking for a partner in crime in his son’s place and feeling pathetic over it.

Sumo came gallivanting up to set his butt down at his feet, and Hank gave him a tired smile.

For a moment, he really wanted to stay here and bother Connor instead of going back to his lonely work and his lonelier home. His chest kind of ached, and it wasn’t because of the residual mucusy cigarette burning either. But Sumo was always around for company, right?

“C’mon, let’s go raise hell,” he said. “Those parking tickets aren’t going to write themselves.” Sumo boofed with enthusiasm.

The clouds over the bay were getting closer and darker, but Hank still had plenty of time.


End file.
